Crossing lines (Noah and Aiden) novel Chapter 173

Chapter 173

Aiden

I found myself endlessly captivated by the sight of him asleep. It was becoming somewhat unsettling—almost obsessive—but I couldn’t help it. Watching him like this, so still and vulnerable, was a stark contrast to the fierce energy he unleashed on the field. Out there, he was unstoppable—charging forward with fiery determination, throwing out sharp comebacks, making every play look effortless. Even in the quiet of our shared bed, he was usually all fire and hunger, chasing after pain and release as if they were the very air he breathed. Yet, in this moment, with the sheet loosely wrapped around his hips and his face relaxed against the pillow, he appeared so young, almost fragile.

Maybe that fragile side was the reason we worked so well together. I offered him a place to settle, a refuge where he could burn off the restless energy buzzing inside his mind. Sure, even now, he still played with fire—especially with me—but he was also the hardest worker on the field, pushing himself beyond limits. And despite his relentless attempts to catch me off guard—at school, in the showers, in my office, and every empty hallway—I was trying to keep my guard up, cautious and careful.

He shifted slightly in his sleep, the sheet slipping further down, and I felt my breath hitch. That damn body of his—it could make me forget everything else, even my own name. I’d grown accustomed to lying awake beside him, feeling him hard as stone, counting the seconds until he stirred. Some nights, I’d tease him awake with my mouth, turning it into a little game: guessing how long it would take before he woke up under my touch. He never once complained about waking that way.

I turned to face him fully, letting my fingers trail down the length of his spine. His breathing stayed steady and deep, but the fine hairs on his back rose beneath my touch. My hand moved lower, cupping the curve of his ass, squeezing just enough to make him twitch. When my fingers traced down the cleft, he shifted with a sleepy sound that sent a pulse through me.

Sliding down the bed, I pulled the sheet away completely and settled between his legs. With both hands, I spread him open, drinking in the sight until my chest ached. Then I leaned forward, dragging my tongue along the smooth line of his crack, circling the tight ring that welcomed me so willingly. He tasted of salt and skin—ours. A surge of contentment hit me like a punch to the gut.

His breath caught sharply when I eased a finger inside, slow and deliberate, just to the first knuckle. Another soft sound escaped him. I pushed deeper, burying my finger to the base, toying with him lazily, patiently, while my cock hardened painfully.

His moans dropped low and husky, rasping right in my ear. God, the sounds he made were better than any cheering crowd, better than anything else I’d ever heard. When I coaxed a higher, broken whimper from him, I knew I’d found the perfect spot.

I shifted, hooking my leg over his to sink even deeper. My hand slid up the back of his neck to hold him—not to restrain, but to keep him close. I moved with long, slow strokes until he trembled beneath me, not from pain but from pure need.

As I felt him begin to pulse around me, I pulled out, flipped him over, and pushed back in from the front. His eyes fluttered open, glassy and wet. I leaned down, kissing him tenderly as we moved together, our bodies pressed close, rubbing against each other until we both spilled—hot, messy—in my hand, warmth spreading across his abs.

The room was quiet except for our heavy breathing, the faint rustle of the sheets, and the lingering heat between us. In that moment, nothing else mattered.